Chapter 8 – Whispers Between the Walls

Elira walked into the office with the sunlight hitting her back, the warmth unable to touch the cold pit of nerves forming in her stomach. The night before had been magical—unexpected, filled with soft laughter and a gaze that spoke of longing and hesitation. Alexander was still a mystery, a man stitched together with grief and discipline, but she had seen glimpses of something tender behind his eyes. And she had offered a part of herself too, a truth she could never fully say—that she had loved him once...

Now, she had to act like everything was normal.

As she crossed the 27th-floor lobby, she noticed how quiet it was. Unusually quiet. When she passed the coffee station, she heard hushed voices. Carl, Monroe, and Dina stood together, whispering.

"I swear he smiled at her," Monroe said. "Not just polite. I mean... he smiled."

Carl chuckled. "Maybe she told a joke."

"No," Dina said. "He asked her if she got home safe. That's not a CEO thing. That's a boyfriend thing."

Elira's breath caught. She turned the corner before they noticed her, her heart pounding. Were they talking about her?

In Alexander's office, the man in question stared at his computer screen, numbers swimming in front of his eyes. He had barely slept. Not because of work, but because he couldn't stop thinking about her. About how her laughter had lit up the night. About how he almost kissed her.

He ran a hand through his hair and stood, pacing slowly to the window.

He couldn't afford this. He couldn't afford to feel. But here he was.

And then, like fate answering a thought, a soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he said.

Elira stepped inside, composed but breathless, holding a thin file folder.

"I've got the revised PR proposals."

He gestured toward the chair. "Sit."

She did. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second too long.

"This one," she said, flipping open the folder, "is the most compelling narrative. It's softer. Makes the company feel more human, more emotionally aware."

Alexander didn't look at the folder. He looked at her.

"Elira," he said, "are you okay?"

Caught off guard, she nodded. "Yes. Just... early morning nerves."

"From what?"

She hesitated. "People are talking. They noticed... the way you looked at me."

He leaned back in his chair, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Let them talk."

"I can handle it," she said quickly. "I'm just not sure you should have to."

"I've lived with whispers since the day I buried my wife," he said. "People will always whisper. But I refuse to regret something that brings me peace."

She blinked. "Do I bring you peace?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Later that day, Elira sat in the design studio, reviewing mock-ups for the fall campaign. Yuna leaned over her shoulder.

"You know," Yuna said, smirking, "you've been glowing since yesterday."

"Stop it," Elira muttered, cheeks warm.

"I'm just saying," Yuna said, "if the CEO happened to fall for you, it'd be his smartest decision yet."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're deflecting."

Elsewhere, in a penthouse overlooking the city, Aiden stirred sugar into his coffee while Aria sat cross-legged on the sofa, reading. Neither spoke for a long time.

Then Aiden said, "She hums that same lullaby."

Aria looked up. "Who?"

"Elira. She hums the same song Mom used to sing."

Aria blinked. "You noticed it too."

"She even wrinkles her nose the same way when she eats spicy food."

"That's not possible," Aria said. "Mom died when we were born."

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

Aria stared at her brother. "You're not... saying what I think you're saying."

He shrugged, but he didn't deny it.

"She's 22," Aria whispered. "We're 23. That would mean..."

"She was reborn. The day Mom died. That would make the age gap real."

"That's crazy."

"Is it?"

Back at the office, Elira stood by the copy machine when Alexander appeared beside her, silently handing her a stapler. No words passed between them, just a quiet understanding.

He lingered.

"You told me once that flowers made you cry," he said. "Why?"

She looked down. "Because my husband used to bring them home every Friday. Same bouquet. I never asked why, and I never got the chance to."

Alexander's expression froze.

That wasn't something Elira should know.

"Elira..." he began.

But she turned, smiling sadly. "Don't worry. Just a silly memory."

She left him standing there, stunned.

That night, Elira lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed.

Alexander: Can't sleep.

Elira: Me neither.

Alexander: Thinking of you.

Elira: Do you think we're crazy?

Alexander: Maybe. But maybe crazy is what I need.

Her heart soared.

The next morning, the tension in the office had shifted. People whispered louder. Someone had seen them together at the rooftop. Another had spotted their hands touching in the elevator. The gossip had grown wings.

Yuna approached her during break.

"Be careful," she said gently.

"I am."

"I mean it. Some people here—they don't want to see you happy."

Elira nodded. "I know."

In the boardroom, Alexander stood beside Elira during a product pitch. He didn't look at her more than necessary. But when she spoke, his chest swelled with pride. She was brilliant, radiant, poised.

After the meeting, one of the interns muttered under his breath, "Sleeping your way up works, I guess."

Elira heard it.

She turned. "Excuse me?"

The intern flushed. "Nothing."

But Alexander had heard too.

His voice was calm but cold. "You're fired."

The room went silent.

"You don't get to insult someone because you're intimidated by her brilliance," Alexander continued. "Pack your things."

Elira stood still as stone.

Later, in his office, she said, "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes," he said. "I did."

"People will say worse."

"I'll keep defending you."

"You can't fight everyone."

"I'll try."

She smiled. "You're impossible."

"And you're unforgettable."

She laughed softly.

He moved closer. "Elira, I want to tell you something."

Her breath caught.

But before he could speak, the phone rang. A meeting reminder. They both stepped back.

"Tonight?" he asked.

"Rooftop again?"

He nodded.

Hours later, under the same stars, she said, "They know."

"I know."

"What now?"

"We live."

"I'm scared."

"So am I."

"But I want to be with you."

"Then be with me."

And under the hush of night, he finally kissed her.

It was soft at first. Then aching. Full of years of pain, of longing, of lost time. He kissed her like a man who had buried his heart and found it again. She kissed him like a woman who had returned to the arms she was born for.

When they broke apart, she said, "Do you feel it too?"

"Yes."

"Then don't let go."

"I won't."

End of Chapter 8